


Gestalt

by CallMeCheerios



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beverly is the best friend a guy could ask for, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Crime Scenes, Hannibal Lecter isn't a total asshole, M/M, Masterbation, Tags will be updated as I go along, This is rated explicit for future content, graphic depictions of murder scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCheerios/pseuds/CallMeCheerios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's another serial killer on the loose. Will's grasp of who he is and what is real is starts to waiver. And it looks like the solace and comfort he desperately needs can only be found in the arms of his unofficial therapist, Hannibal Lecter. </p><p>NB: This takes place around the same time as Trou Normand (S1, E9)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Six bodies. Six brutally mangled and desecrated corpses had been found in a hunting cabin in upstate Virginia. Six. Or at least they thought there were six. It was hard to tell considering limbs, entrails, and other bits and pieces had been scatter haphazardly throughout the cabin. It would take hours upon hours to photograph and collect. Each piece, however small, was a unique item that had to be studied and submitted as evidence. And there were a lot of pieces. But judging by the number of heads sitting primly on the mantle, six seemed like a good guess. 

Jack had been succinct and decidedly gruff when he had called early that morning. His less-than-cheery self had given Will an address and an order, parting with a simple “I expect you to be here.” The ‘as soon as possible’ went unsaid but was clearly implied. Will sighed into the phone once Jack had hung up, running his palm over his scruffy face. Stumbling out of bed, his unsteady, sleep-heavy limbs were disinclined to start the day. But his mind was already whirling, attempting to infer just what was in store. He’d been given no warning or idea of what he’d find once he made the hour plus drive to a secluded hunting cabin nestled in the Virginian woods. He let the dogs out while the coffee maker sputtered and brewed and protested as the hot water drained through the abundance of grounds. He didn’t consider coffee a science. It was more of an art. He simply eye-balled the general amount of grounds he was supposed to use based on the ratio to water and then added several extra scoops--the stronger the better. Never mind that it tasted awful. It was a necessity, and he’d happily drink liquefied tires mixed with jet fuel and set aflame if it’d wake him up. 

It was hardly light out, not uncommon this time of year. It was dark when you got up and black as midnight long before that hour would come to pass. It was still fall, but the air was crisp. People predicted a harsh winter was coming their way. But you never could tell. The only bonus was that the chill that had settled in the air and invaded Will’s car, helped slap him awake as he wait for the interior to warm up. Once his breathe was no longer visible, and the frost on the windows had dissipated, he set out. His mind had more than enough time between getting ready for the day and the drive out to the crime scene to image all sorts of terrible scenarios that could be awaiting him. Will still hadn’t learned that the atrocities committed by others couldn’t hold a candle to what his subconscious concocted when it dared to dream. The vile entreaties of murders always found a way to burrow under his skin and multiply in size and villainy, unseen and unbidden, laying in wait to take over his nightmares. 

The drive was more or less uneventful. Will’s synapses fired at random, sent into overdrive by his heightened anxiety. He was anxious a lot, borderline fidgety. Compounded with his distaste for eye contact, it earned him a lot of too-loud whispers and questioning stares. He’d more or less gotten used to it, wrapped safely in his orderly world. Perfectly folded t-shirts and socks, a predictable and rarely changing teaching schedule, and the accompanying sense of stability had helped. Being on-call to perform his mental magic and summon the motives and aspirations thought up by the darkest minds of so-called humanity had undone all of that. Jack’s ever watchful gaze and weary intolerance just made it that much worse. Upon arrival, Will could feel Jack’s torrential displeasure long before he stepped out of his car. 

The cabin sat in a small clearing, just barely accessible by car. The road that had once led up to it, was now more of a trail from the closest road. It was overgrown and fenced in by a heavy line of trees, pines whose branches reached out like fingers desperate to touch those on other side of the road. They batted at the sides of the big black behemoth favored by the FBI and squeaked as they dragged against the windows. Will’d had to leave his own car on the main road. There simply wasn’t enough room around the cabin for the number of vehicles present. Will was faintly surprised by just how many people there were. Donned in white coveralls, carrying plastic brief cases full of crime scene investigation equipment many of them were shifting restlessly from foot to foot, clearly uninterested in the scene around them. It was obvious. They had been waiting for him. Keeping the scene untouched, so that Will could get an untampered with perspective, had clearly ruffled a lot of feathers. The amount of posturing from techs and agents made that evident. People were impatient. They wanted to get in and do their jobs. Will hadn’t yet known what a big job it would be, but the volume of people should have given him a clue. 

The semi-circle of people that had formed in the clearing and watched him gingerly move towards the front door made him feel like a gladiator awaiting his undeniable fate. The amphitheater stretched out before him, and he had no idea what kind of monster was waiting to devour him. His heart was pounding. He flinched violently when Jack laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Will.” Jack nodded a little and had the good grace to quickly pull back his hand.

“Jack.” Will locked his gaze on Jack’s chin. Intent on concealing his nervousness, he simply nodded as Jack commanded he steel himself. Will had waved off his warnings in the past. The Angel Maker’s first victims had taught him that Jack’s serious demeanor and caustic attempts at delivering helpful advice might not always be amiss. 

“I know I didn’t give you much over the phone. Truth is...” Jack paused to sigh and scrub his face with one giant, gloved hand. “It’s not pretty.”

“It never is.”

“Brace yourself. This might be one for the record books.”

Jack’s cryptic warning propelled Will’s body to be contrary. He couldn’t brace himself. He felt wobbly, like screws had been removed and a hearty gust of winter wind could dismantle him. He already felt tired. These kinds of outings left him mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Yet he hadn’t even seen what he came here to see. It was far too early in the day for this kind of case-related lethargy to settle in. There’d be plenty of time in the coming days or weeks for him to ramp up to being overtired and unapologetically overworked. Will stopped at the door and counted his breaths. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five Six. Seven. Exhale.

The cabin itself had been completely unassuming. Set back in the woods away from the road, away from neighbors and prying eyes, away from everything but the beauty of nature. Will could appreciate the seclusion and simplicity of it all. Quaint and rustic, it was obvious that cabin had just been one large rectangular room made of rough hewn wood at the outset. Over time it had been updated, fitted with indoor plumbing and a kitchenette. But it was just the basics, nothing extravagant or outlandish. It was simple and charming, perhaps the perfect escape from city life. Will could see the owner--yet to be identified--curled up in a blanket, sipping tea on a chilly winter’s night as the fire crackled behind the grate of the huge stone fireplace that consumed almost an entire wall. 

Of course that very same fireplace was now serving as the canvas for the truly grotesque. Six heads, severed brutally at the base of the skull, were sitting on the mantle, mouths hanging open in silent screams. They were a spectrum of decay, each a few days older than the last. There was a vacant space in the middle, a place of honor for one more victim flanked by three handmaidens on each side. The lips were painted a lurid pink, bright and waxy and smudged. The eyelids were closed but sunken in appearance. Will guessed that forensics would find hollow sockets behind them but had no inclination to test the theory himself. They’d been smeared in bright blue eyeshadow the color of pool cue chalk. It was applied artlessly, like it had been hastily caked on with someone’s fingertips. The faint blue dots that lingered on the cheekbones and foreheads spoke of disorganization. It was sloppy and belittling. The mockery and loathing was apparent. The hair had been snipped away haphazardly. Will could feel the rage that was heightened with each aggressive snip. Blunt edges and uneven lengths sprouted from each skull. 

Blood coated the mantle like a thin layer of varnish. It was dried and cracked and splattered across the rest of the stone and the floor. The fireplace was the epicenter of the brutality. Viscera was nested between stones, strung up like tinsel two months too early for Christmas. The area rug was littered with slivers of flesh, carved indelicately from torsos. The arm chairs held bits of limbs, dumped unceremoniously in piles and then scattered across the floor. The scent of blood and decay was suffocating. The air was thick and heavy with a coppery tang. It weighed down everything and seeped into Will’s skin. It coated the inside of his mouth and nose. He could feel it dry inside his lungs and flake with each breath. Will rushed out the door, gulping air. He couldn’t say how long he’d been in the cabin. Seconds? Minutes? He emerged squinting and breathless. He was uncertain if the brightness of the sky outside was the result of the sun rising higher as hours passed or if the dank gloom of the cabin had crept inside of him and darkened his vision. Jack approached him slowly like a man approaching a frightened and trapped animal but didn’t say anything. It was rare that Jack respected Will’s need for a moment to process. What he felt and what he could articulate were rarely the same. Emotions often just flashed like an internal strobe light. Strong and intense, sometimes it felt like each flare would rip him apart from the inside out. This is no different. The rage and the sense of entitlement, the desperate shouts of unfairness were sharp and bruising and abrupt. 

“He’s angry. The girls....they wronged him somehow. Took something. Stole something. Something that was his, that he had a right to.”

“What did they take?”

Will shook his head. He didn’t know. He was angry and scared, stalking these girls in the dark of night, descending on them so quickly they never had time to scream. He knew these girls. And they knew him. They were afraid of him. He had needed the stealth. None of them would have allowed him to approach them otherwise. But it hadn’t always been like that. Something had soured. They’d turned against him. All of them. Every. Last. One. They deserved what they got. 

“There will be one more. It doesn’t matter that we’ve found his shrine. He won’t be able to stop. To control himself. He’s been waiting for this. It all lead up to that moment, the final victim.”

“How long do we have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Days? Hours?”

“I don’t know. He may already have her. I don’t know.”

“Why them? What do they have in common, Will?”

“Him.” It was all Will could say. He was dizzy from lack of oxygen. He was fighting the urge to shout and scream and curse. Jack gripped his arm and led him steadily towards the FBI cruiser that had escorted him down to the cabin. Will barely registered the door opening and Jack urging him to sit. When he’d found himself again, most of the agents had gone inside, descending on the scene after being given the all-clear. It was a small relief. Crowds had always felt oppressive. But weight of Jack’s gaze as he talked with Katz several strides away was still there. 

Will was still reeling, still processing. He could breathe again. But he felt nauseated and itchy. His head was pounding and redoubling its effort with every inhale and exhale. The pain left him unmoored. The stabbing reminder of his corporal form did nothing to tether him to the present. He simply sat and stared and elected to let his mind do all the heavy lifting. He didn't really have a choice on that front. He couldn’t help being completely immersed in the vivid and relentless inundation of emotions that had barraged him while he investigated the cabin. As hard as he tried, he wouldn’t be able to stop the killer’s emotions from inhabiting his self. Occasionally his own consciousness would bob to the surface and give him a brief respite. But it was rare at moments like this. The thoughts and feelings of others always battled with his own, creating a cacophony as they rioted across his corpus callosum and threatened to burst through his skull. He was truly terrified that one day his own self would be jettisoned and the killers he hunted would finally and fully take over. They’d wear him like a suit, make him their puppet. No matter how many times he insisted he knew himself, the threat was very real, and it fed off his compulsion to save lives. Swapping his life for the lives of dozens wasn’t much of a sacrifice he was certain. What he wasn’t certain of, is if his stubborn desire to help would lead to an even higher death toll in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

Will was feeling sturdier, more solid, although the nausea hadn’t fully subsided. His solitude in the SUV had done him some good, even if he’d yet to discover anything more tangible to offer forensics. Bev had been the one to shoo him out of hiding. He hopped out of the backseat and had was forced to admit that she was right, the fresh air did help. It got him out of his head for the time being. And now the last of the evidence was being packed up and sent back to Quantico. Will knew he’d follow along behind them and then sit and watch as Katz, Zeller, and Price worked studiously for hours. They’d all drink way too much coffee and, in the end, find nothing new of note. They’d stay late and call it a day only when the hum of the fluorescent overhead lights had grown so loud it blocked out all other thoughts.

“Ready to go? I can give you a lift back to your car.” Bev gently knocked shoulders with him. Will swayed with the motion and then gave Bev a faint smile.

“Yeah sure. Let me make a call first.” Will pulled out his cell phone and dialed. He was already feeling the anxiety marching across his skin. As it rang he silently prayed that the call would go to voicemail.

“Hello Will.” _Shit._ Not voicemail. 

“Dr. Lecter.” Will cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. ”I have to cancel my appointment. For this evening. Something came up.” Will grimaced. He sounded stilted, like a dim-witted perp trying to concoct a lie on the spot. What was worse was that he regretted having to make the call in the first place. He had grown accustomed to spending his Thursday evenings in Hannibal’s office. They’d spent enough time together that he was actually looking forward to the other man’s company. Hannibal often had good insights on cases and didn’t seem to mind focusing on work instead of Will’s life. For that Will was very grateful. Plus lately Hannibal had taken to insisting Will join him for dinner afterward. The decadence of the meal always made Will uncomfortable. But the easy conversation and Hannibal’s gentle culinary education helped dispel some of the discomfort. 

“Another crime scene?”

“Yes.” Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “At least this one is local?” It sounded like a question. He had been aiming to sound upbeat but failed after realizing that was a pretty pathetic silver lining.

“Where are you?” It was a simple question, in theory. But Hannibal never asked simple questions: Will knew this full well. This question, just three words in length, was so vague and indirect it made Will cringe as his mind scrambled for an answer. There was an unuttered sentiment of ‘mentally and emotionally’ at the end of the question. He supposed Hannibal couldn’t care less where the actual crime scene was located. His interests lie in identifying how Will was coping. The answer was, in short, ‘not well’. But Will relied on being equally cryptic and vague. He wore misdirection like camouflage and worked tirelessly to keep the focus off of himself as much as possible.

“Paris...Virginia.” Will had deliberately chosen to answer literally. And he’d felt the need to clarify when Hannibal didn’t respond right away, if only to hide that he had known the true question buried under Hannibal’s words. “It’s on the way to Winchester.” Will tried. The likelihood that Hannibal, even for a moment, thought Will might be in France was non-existent, ludicrous even. But Will had no idea how familiar Hannibal was with the geography of Virginia, not that it really mattered. Paris had a population of about 50 people give or take--it wasn’t even incorporated. Will suspected that most people passed right by without taking notice, which was a shame.

They were in hunting country. The air was crisp, and the leaves were changing. It was really quite scenic: a perfect place to get away and enjoy some peace and quiet. Or to murder a bunch of people in the woods without being overheard. Everyone deserved a hobby and the chance to unwind. Will had fishing and making lures. He looked forward to and enjoyed setting a trap for his own prey while he waited, patient and still. He let the water rush around him, wiping him clean of the grime of his daily sins. He melded with nature until the the pull of his fishing rod would bring him back to the present. Then with every ounce of dexterity he could muster, Will would reel in his catch so that he could gut and devour them. He would always acknowledge their sacrifice and was better for it. They gave him life and made him strong.

“Will?” Hannibal sounded perplexed. Will wondered if he had continued to babble, or if Hannibal had been talking, and Will had been too far away to notice.

“I’m sorry. Did you say something? I got...distracted.” He was tempted to say lost but didn’t want to risk sounding like he needed to be found or, god forbid, rescued. Nevermind that it was safe to say that Hannibal knew Will better than anyone else. Despite his reluctance to see a psychiatrist--unofficially or otherwise--Will had grown to rely on Hannibal. He had failed to find an anchor and had resigned himself to a life untethered. But with Hannibal’s help, he could at least steer himself and be in charge of where he went metaphorically speaking.

“Understandable. I have some time before my next appointment. Would you care to talk about it now?”

“No. That’s okay. I’m still…” Will waggled his head from side to side. He wasn’t sure how to describe what he was doing. He never really could verbalize the way his brain worked. And he’d been stalwart about keeping anyone who wanted to assess and theorize about him at bay. It just was what is was. His brain did what it did. He didn’t really have a lot of control over it. “I just wanted to let you know I wasn’t coming tonight.”

“You know I have a 24 hour cancellation policy.” Hannibal said matter of factly. Will suspected the man was joking but couldn’t be certain. Hannibal was notoriously hard to read when they were in the same room: over the phone it was impossible. He enjoyed Hannibal’s dry sense of humor. Often times it complimented his own sarcastic brand of wit, although Hannibal was always quick to gently dismiss Will’s commentary when it veered into self-deprecating. There had been an indefinable shift in their rapport after Tobias Budge’s attack on Hannibal. Walls that had previously been erected between the two of them had been dismantled in a sudden and swift rush of relief when his eyes found Hannibal’s, alive and well (for the most part) sitting in his office surrounded by the day’s cruel chaos. The relief had been mutual. Hannibal had admitted as much, and suddenly, without cause or thought, whatever Will’s reluctance to entertain Hannibal’s role in his life had evaporated. Will had dragged Hannibal into his world. Despite Hannibal’s assurances that he’d found his own way there just fine, they were now and forever, irrevocably linked through shared mayhem and death. It was freeing in a way: to have no boundaries was a new experience for Will whose world had been so tightly confined just months before. He owed so much to Hannibal but could never adequately express his gratitude without succumbing to awkwardness. Hannibal of course always waved away his thanks, answering Will’s mumbled appreciation with a small, private smile.

“Will you take a rain check?” It was a stupid question since they had a weekly standing appointment, but Will didn’t know what else to ask.

Will saw Bev raise her eyebrows. She loved to eavesdrop and was clearly intrigued: it came with the job, but that didn’t mean Will enjoyed having an audience. Will was suddenly self-conscious. He had asked with nothing but innocent intentions, but now he was acutely aware that to an outside observer it could sound flirtatious. He definitely wasn’t flirting with Hannibal Lecter. Nevermind that now his heart was pounding, his palms were sweating, and if he had a mirror handy, he was sure it’d reveal that he suddenly looked pale except for spots of color high on his cheeks, and it would have nothing to do with how taxing the morning had been.

“I suppose. But I may have to charge you interest. My time is very valuable after all.” Will could hear the smirk in Hannibal’s voice. He blinked rapidly. Was Hannibal flirting with him?

“Yes, yes, you’re a very important person.” The words slipped out, a bit absentmindedly but doused with sarcasm, before he really had time to think of something more appropriate to say. Without the time or tact to censor his thoughts, he hadn’t bothered to hide his sarcasm. He finished his statement with a soft smile and by rolling his eyes at Bev who wasn’t even pretending that she wasn’t listening anymore. There was puzzlement written across her features. She must know who was on the other end of the call, but was clearly at a loss since she couldn’t hear what Hannibal was saying. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” Bev’s eyebrows shot up, and Will recognized just how scandalous his words were if taken out of context. Even in this instance they were toeing the line. He was definitely playing with fire. Will cleared his throat. “Anyways...I should go.” Before he could say his goodbye, Hannibal was drawing him back into conversation.

“How late do you think you will be? Do you need someone to let your dogs out for you?”

“Hannibal, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure they can manage for a few extra hours. They’ve done it before.”

“Will, it is not a matter of having to do something. I am privileged enough that there are very few things in my life I have to do but do not wish to do. I assure you, helping a friend is not one of those things. I am simply offering my assistance.”

Will paused. He’d feel guilty saying yes--he’d never in a million lifetimes be able to repay Hannibal’s generosity. The man routinely opened his home to Will. He cooked them elaborate meals and volunteered his time well beyond what any other psychiatrist would do. Will knew that Hannibal enjoyed all of those things, and that Hannibal would never stoop so low as to humor Will. He was a friend, Will realized, honest and true. Will felt like he was taking advantage. He rarely had anything to offer in return. But he also couldn’t say no. Will heard himself sigh. “Sure Hannibal. That’d be great. I appreciate it.” He meant it, he really did.

“You are most welcome, Will. And perhaps if you are not going to be too late, I can make us dinner. I suspect you have not had a decent meal in a while and might relish the chance to unwind with a home cooked meal after a stressful day.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You did not ask. I offered.”

“You don’t…” Will realized he was arguing in circles. He wanted to tell Hannibal, for what was easily the tenth time, that he didn’t have to. Hannibal always dismissed his concern that Hannibal was acting out of obligation. And if Will was perfectly honest real food, food that didn’t come prepackaged or frozen or from a vending machine, sounded great. It was a rare occurrence that Will ate food prepared by hand. He didn’t share Hannibal’s love of cooking, nor did he possess Hannibal’s skill. More often than not, once the dogs were fed, feeding himself held no real interest. He would just microwave whatever he had in the freezer and call it a meal. Will sighed again. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Until then.” Hannibal hung up. Will felt a little less anxious about the bodies in the cabin. Although now he was dreading going home. Meeting at Hannibal’s office was one thing. But dinner. At Will’s house. In Wolf Trap. With all his dogs. It was unsettling. But not as unsettling as the giant smirk plastered across Bev’s face. Coupled with the shrewd and knowing gaze she had settled on him, it was almost terrifying.

“So either you know two guys named Hannibal or you have a hot date with your shrink. Spill. I want all the details.” Will shook his head hoping that’d be enough to fend of Bev’s teasing.

“He just offered to take my dogs out for me.”

“And?”

Will just stared at his feet and mumbled a response. Bev was positive she heard the phrase “make me dinner” pass his lips.

“I guess we know how you’re going to make it up to him. Bow chica wow wow!”

“I hate you.”

“Mmhmm sure. You’ll be singing a different tune after you get some.” Will scrubbed his face with his hands, surprised that the heat of his embarrassment hadn’t caused it to melt. “Alright Loverboy. Let’s get back to work.” Bev hooked her arm around his neck and dragged him to the passenger side of her car. This was definitely going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

Price and Zeller hadn’t yet finished matching the all assorted body parts and innards to the six heads they found. But they’d made progress, very little progress, but progress nonetheless. They had a decent idea which limbs belonged to which victim but were waiting on DNA analysis to confirm. The assorted viscera was another story. Once cut open, one person’s insides looked a lot much like everyone else’s. Given that each victim appeared to be around the same age, height, weight, and nationality, the similarities were even greater.

It was the devil’s version of a jigsaw puzzle, and they couldn’t even finish the edges: each victim was missing her right hand. It was clearly meant as a punishment for stealing. Will’s initial suspicion for motive was correct on that front. But what was stolen he couldn’t say. Will’s insights did very little to aid the investigation, much to Jack’s dismay. They’d hoped that new forensic evidence would come to light. But so far they had little to go on. All Will had to show for a day of watching people bag and tag bits of human remains was a massive headache and the irrepressible need to keep checking to make sure his own limbs were still all present and accounted for.

Eventually he just had to leave. It was getting dark, he was getting nowhere, and tensions were running high. The drive back home didn’t help him settle down much. He was too alone. His thoughts circled like sharks, attacking relentlessly. It had been exhausting trying to push out the fear and incomprehensible pain that had attacked the girls’ last hours alive. It was a small comfort to know that they’d already died before the assailant began hacking them into pieces. But he needed an actual break from the evils of his fellow man. He needed to scrub himself clean of the grisly images embedded deep in the folds of his brain.

The only other train of thought left to explore revolved around Hannibal, and that was possibly even worse. The two of them had been spending more and more time together. Their relationship, if it could even be called that, had been tenuous at first. Will definitely hadn’t wanted a shrink, even unofficially. Being psychoanalyzed was something he had studiously avoided his whole life. He had always been the quiet, weird one. He had managed, somehow, to fly under the radar and go undetected as appallingly abnormal in college, and when he was on the force. But as time passed, he had regressed significantly. That he had a place on the spectrum was obvious to even the least observant of people. However Hannibal seemed to genuinely enjoy his company nonetheless. He didn’t display the same level of polite professional curiosity that the other’s in his field did, although it was definitely there to some degree.

Hannibal didn’t push relentlessly. He didn’t badger Will to take tests or seek to give a formal diagnosis. Instead he listened as they talked. He invited Will to his house. He cooked for him. He drove an hour to Will’s house to let Will’s dogs out for him. By those standards, Hannibal was as good of a friend as Will had ever had. And Will was grateful. He was more than grateful. He was confused. He liked Hannibal. Maybe he more than liked Hannibal. Will knew that Bev was just teasing. But she was also incredibly observant and shrewd: of course she would have picked up on Will’s changing attitude towards Hannibal. The telling smile and the banter was a dead give away, although it was likely that she’d known how Will felt before he did.

When had that happened? When had his feelings towards Hannibal shift from disdain, to general weariness, to something else? Will could barely focus on driving and was grateful that the back country roads were mostly deserted. He considered pulling over on several occasions but the allure of home was too strong. He had his dogs’ relentless joy to look forwards to, and Hannibal would be there. It was close to 7 pm when he saw his house, glowing invitingly in a sea of darkness. 

Will strolled through his front door. His joviality he’d talked himself into feeling evaporated at the sight of Hannibal sitting idly on the couch next to large, black and shaggy beast. “Ah Will, you are home.” Hannibal’s greeting went unanswered as Will stood in the doorway blinking rapidly. Will squeezed his eyes shut as he quietly reminded himself that it was 6: 57 pm, he was in Wolf Trap, Virginia, and his name was Will Graham.

“Will?” Hannibal had gotten up and was standing next time him looking very concerned. “Will, where did you go?”

“Tell me you see it too,” Will implored with a smallish whisper. He was standing perfectly still, radiating tension and not daring to take his eyes off of what he now recognized as a Tibetan mastiff.

“Will, have you been experiencing hallucinations again?” Hannibal immediately reached to place his palm on Will’s forehead. Will finally broke eye contact with the dog and looked at Hannibal, shaking his head vigorously. Will exhaled loudly and let his shoulders slump in relief, although Hannibal’s concern was still evident.

“Hey there.” Will called in greeting as he moved slowly towards the mastiff that had claimed his couch. “Where’d you come from?” Will reached out a hand to let the dog sniff it. Will looked back at Hannibal hoping he’d have an answer as the big dog licked his fingers.

“He isn’t one of yours?” Hannibal’s face changed from clearly concerned to vaguely alarmed. Will shook his head in reply once more. Hannibal blinked slowly. “I let the dogs out when I got here. He was with them when I let him back in. I confess I didn’t recall seeing him before, but considering your affinity for taking in strays…”

“You thought I’d picked up a new one,” Will finished for him before carding his fingers through the beast’s mane to see if a collar was hidden somewhere in all that fur. Much to his surprise he found one. 

“Yes. Please forgive my assumption. If I may, in my defense, he seemed quite a home here; quiet, clean, well-behaved not unlike the rest of your disciples.” Will shot Hannibal a sharp glance at the word choice but declined to comment on it choosing instead to focus his attention back to the dog.

“Well hello there Cooper.” The dog’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he gave a deep, thunderous woof in return. Will couldn’t help but ruffle the giant dog’s ears as he attempted to tamp down a smirk. The idea of Hannibal, of all people, unknowingly inviting a strange dog into his house was comical. Will collapsed on the sofa with an ungainly snort. The rest of his brood seemed almost as confused as Hannibal, furry little heads cocked to the side as they watched Will. Cooper was the only one who seemed unconcerned with the day’s turn of events and took the opportunity to sprawl across Will’s lap, never mind that he probably weighed close to 120 pounds. Will hugged the fluffy behemoth before, with some great effort, taking out his cell phone to call the number listed on the dog’s tag. Cooper’s owner, Marty, sounded very relieved to learn that her dog was safe and sound and promised to be right over.

“Alright Coop, down you go.” Will gently urged Cooper off the couch so that he could stand and properly greet the rest of his pack. At some point during the brief phone call Hannibal had migrated to another room only to look completely incongruous in Will’s sad, little kitchen. The man was a master chef, and Will’s kitchen practically reeked of neglect considering how infrequently he cooked anything more complicated than pasta. “His owner should be here soon.” Will announced leaning against the counter. Hannibal poured them each a glass of wine. 

“You never answered my question. Have you been experiencing hallucinations again, Will?” Hannibal extended a glass to Will. Will took it shaking his head gently and not bothering to look away from the glass. There were no answers to be found in the deep red liquid but maybe courage lurked somewhere in its depths. He had the sudden urge to knock back the whole glass. This was not how he had wanted the evening to go.

“Not recently, no. I don’t know why I thought…” Will took a measured sip and shook his head again. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“I’m not convinced you would tell me if you weren’t.” Hannibal stepped forward and tilted Will’s chin up. The direct eye contact still made Will want to squirm no matter how much he tried to suppress the urge. “Or that you would even recognize if you were, in fact, unwell.” It wasn’t a chastisement, but Will still felt scolded. Will resorted to taking a step back and changing the topic. 

“I never thanked you for driving all the way out here to take care of the dogs. I know you’re not their biggest fan.” Hannibal opened his mouth to argue, but Will cut him off. “You tolerate them at best, let’s be honest.”

“They are important to you. That is what matters.” Hannibal smiled warmly. Will wasn’t really sure where they were going with this little display of honesty and emotion. He set his wineglass on the counter unsure of what to do next. He could hear Bev’s words bouncing off the walls of his skull until the echo was almost maddening. This definitely wasn’t a date. There probably wasn’t a word that could adequately define what he and Hannibal were doing, what he and Hannibal were to each other. Although his current perception of Hannibal--prim and proper and constantly ping ponging back and forth between shrink and friend--was murky at best, Hannibal somehow felt safe. That he was certain of. That he could define. Hannibal was safe. There was a strength and security that radiated from him. It had only waivered, just barely, that day in Hannibal’s office when the older man had confessed to being afraid. Worried had been the word Hannibal used. But the fear was evident. He had feared that Tobias succeeded in killing Will. And perhaps this evening it was just that Will, in his tired and overworked state, was putting too much thought into Bev’s teasing. Will’s heart started to pound, and he suspected it was more out of panic than desire. 

But what if? Will wasn’t sure this was a road he wanted to go down. He’d been mercifully free of relationships and romantic entanglements for years. It was rare that he looked twice at a woman who wasn’t laid out on a slab at Quantico. The prospect of dating again wasn’t even on his radar. It wasn’t something he thought about. It certainly wasn’t a possibility he entertained even in the middle of the night when he couldn't’ sleep and longed for comforting thoughts. Will saw himself as a solitary creature content with the company of his dogs and the occasional acquaintance. Of course the last few months had decimated that ideal. Returning to work for the BAU had brought new challenges for sure, and with the more headaches, less sleep, and a team of people who insisted on making him their friend. Adding Hannibal Lecter to that mix had only further stirred up his once quiet and serene life. Will couldn’t tell if he wanted to move forward or go back. He didn’t know how to do either, and so he stood still as things moved around him, as events happened to him. 

Was it ever simple to make a decision? He guessed that at some point he’d been better equipped to run his own life. But he couldn’t remember that man, the man he surely used to be. That his life suddenly seemed so far out of his own hands felt wrong. But doing something rash to regain his own sense of self wouldn’t fix that. He’d always stood firm that he knew who he was maybe he’d been lying to himself and everyone around him. Hannibal would have seen the lie. He would have spotted it in an instant because while Will may not have been seeing himself clearly, Hannibal certainly did. Hannibal knew who Will was. Hannibal had the uncanny ability to see a person inside and out, to dissect them until all of their parts were laid out bare and waiting to be read. It’s what Will disliked most about Hannibal, but inevitably it’s what drew Will to him. It was a skill that matched his own so-called gift. It made them one and the same in this regard. It’s what made Will go to Hannibal time and time again. There was no substitute, no alternative, no one else.  
But that was not love, was it? It was just a truth, and one that Will hadn’t let himself acknowledge until that very moment. And now that he was there, staring resolutely into the face of the good doctor, he couldn’t escape the feeling that each minute they’d shared together had been working towards this moment. There was finality pumping through his veins. His heartbeats were like the ticking hands of a clock documenting each passing moment. 

The silence stretched. Hannibal’s face had drifted from appraising to concerned, his warm smile now categorically a frown, as he watched Will struggle through the silence. Will wanted to look away, to say something to break this moment into a million little pieces. It was like Hannibal’s presence, palpable and intense, had robbed him of that ability. Will’s mind was only capable of following a single channel of thought. Hannibal was here in Will’s house and standing before him. He was so close, Will could easily lean forward and find the answer to all of his questions in the press of his lips against Hannibal’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unbeta'd, so I apologize for the inevitable typos. (But I also totally blame them on Google Docs' ridiculously poor spell check function.)


	4. Chapter 4

A cacophony of barks and yips interrupted Will’s train of thought, snapping him out of whatever trance of ill-advised logic he’d been subjected to. He cleared his throat and shuffled from the room, grateful for the excuse to flee the pull of Hannibal’s presence for even a moment.

Will stepped out of the house and onto the front porch. The fresh air did nothing to make him feel more established. The whole day had left him feeling slightly unraveled, having to make nice with a stranger when all he wanted wanted was to eat until his stomach felt as heavy as his eyelids and then curl up with a glass of whiskey and hope for a full night's sleep. At the present moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with his own hands and resisted the urge to cross his arms and hug his elbows. He knew that Hannibal was standing just off to his right with his hands set gingerly in his pockets, the essence of collected and welcoming, never mind that it wasn’t his house. Will let out a huffy breath, briefly scattering the rough waves that covered his forehead before they resettled in even greater disarray, before attempting a stilted wave once Cooper’s owner looked up from where she crouched among the rolling tide of dogs. The dogs were ecstatic to have a visitor, although Cooper still possessed the same a sense of lackadaisical ease as he strode across the lawn. Will watched her greet each dog and whisper very seriously to her own little runaway. Cooper didn’t seem the least bit discouraged by the reprimand.

“Hey, I’m Marty McGuire, we spoke on the phone.” She held her hand out waiting to shake. “And you already know Cooper.” Will couldn’t stifle an amused snort when Cooper, who now sat obediently beside his owner, held up his own paw to shake. 

“Will Graham.” 

Marty’s grip was warm and firm. Her cuticles and swaths of her palms were rough and blackened, smeared with the same inescapable dirt that painted the front of her baggy overalls. Will didn’t mind hands that bore the telltale sign of hard work and manual labor since they mirrored his own. If Hannibal minded the rough contrast against his own smooth palms, he gave no indication. Instead he politely introduced himself as “Dr. Hannibal Lecter.” It seemed a little too formal for the occasion.

“I’m so sorry about him. I swear he doesn’t usually wander off like that. Then again I didn’t realize he was missing until you called.” Marty laughed, bright and loud, barely taking a breath between sentences. “He could be living a double life for all I know. I tend to lose track of time when I’m working.”

Hannibal nodded just slightly in acknowledgment, Will suspected he was mentally noting that as something she and Will had in common. “What is it that you do, Ms. McGuire?”

“Please call me Marty, everyone does.” She gave a jovial shoulder shrug. “I’m an ornamental blacksmith. Lawn sculptures and weapons mostly--my stuff does pretty well on the Ren Faire circuit. Occasionally I do some custom iron work pieces. Commissions are a little sparse these days, but I still get to hit shit with a hammer, so there’s that. Although I guess there are worse ways to get to know your neighbors. I moved into the Reynold’s old place at the end of the summer...” 

Will had no idea who the Reynolds were. He’d never made it much of a mission to get to know the people who’d lived around him, especially since the closest house was three miles down the road. Will could only pretend like he shared an inclination for neighbors and small talk with them, but it was woefully inadequate. Then again his small acknowledgement had not deterred Marty. She continued to talk, creating enough rapid fire conversation for the three of them. Hannibal and Will needed only to nod and murmur in time to her stories. She laughed too loudly and talked too fast. Will felt attacked by her high energy. He felt himself shrinking as his heart rate climbed. He was thankful for Hannibal’s consummate ease and social grace. The man tactfully guided Marty’s tangents back on track and was able to draw her storytelling to a conclusion before too long. 

As Marty and Copper departed, tucked away in the cab of her pickup truck and backing into the receding light. The headlights bounced off of the gravel drive in a staccato farewell as Hannibal turned to take in Will’s silhouette. His gaze was assessing almost clinical. Will imaged bruises forming, dotting his face, neck, arms, anywhere that had been pelted by Marty’s chatter. He wondered if Hannibal could hear his frantic pulse, smell the frenzied blood that ravaged his veins as they raced a madman’s course through his body. Will began to count, eyes closed against the blackening sky, and breathed. The count of seven was shaky at first, short puffs of air battered by the throb of his own heartbeat, and then calmed along with his pulse. Will opened his eyes, his vision now sharper against the fading light, to find that Hannibal had silently excused himself and returned to the kitchen. 

Will made his own way inside and found his wine glass waiting for him, refilled and unappetizing. He lifted it to his mouth but couldn’t bring himself to take a sip. Instead he held it aloft, letting it sit against his lips as he watched Hannibal move about the kitchen. Hannibal displayed the precision of someone who was intimately familiar with the space. The skill he employed and the sharp focus he lent to it was captivating. Will’s own attention was drawn to Hannibal’s movements, his gaze narrowed to a single point and beyond until he was pulled so far from himself he was no longer present. 

Time passed without him and for all he knew, Will ceased to be until he felt Hannibal’s hands gently covered his own and rescued the wine glass from Will’s inattentive grip. It was gentle and caring and called even more attention to the somber mood that had settled over the room and was unlikely to dissipate anytime soon. Eating dinner, much like its preparation, was a very much a one-sided affair. Hannibal talked as Will chewed and silence followed as Hannibal took his own delicate bites. It wasn’t uncomfortable, however, nor was it demanding. Will didn’t feel compelled to talk and knew that the day’s events made for poor dinner conversation. Hannibal didn’t seem to mind in the least if Will was fully present or not. Neither man was in a hurry, but eventually Hannibal excused himself and bid Will a good evening.

That left Will with only had his dogs and the moon for company. He listened to the silence of the evening broken by the clatter of dog nails against hardwood. The wilds that surrounded his house lent themselves well to privacy and quiet. He chose space over high thick walls to protect what was his. That Hannibal had seen more than most and made a space for himself in Will’s domain was not insignificant. Will’d never been particularly welcoming. In fact it was borderline embarrassing when he remembered how he’d first acted towards Hannibal. But Hannibal had persevered and proved him wrong.

Will had never found himself so drawn to another person. He’d never before met someone who had so easily and effortlessly assimilated themselves into his life. If Hannibal were to leave now, excuse himself permanently from Will’s life, Will knew there would be a gaping, gory, needy hole left behind. He would crumble and fall to ruin, without the support that Hannibal provided. He had fought so many battles for the sake of what he wanted out of life and find some sort of lasting peace. And now he had solace, but the serenity that Hannibal brought to his life was not without consequence. Will had no idea what to do with that thought. It followed up around as he did the dishes. It settled hard onto his weary shoulders and weighed him down even more as he let the dogs out for one last evening romp through the yard. It began to fade as he stepped into the shower and let the hot water flow over the crown of his head and down his face and body. He tried not to think about Hannibal, choosing to focus on the feeling of the water on his skin. 

It was usually a gentling comfort, a simple thing to make him feel clean and new once again. A long, hot shower had the miraculous ability to rid him of the ills of the day and let him restart fresh and unblemished. It made him the perfect blank slate before he drifted off to sleep and almost let him forget about the nightmares that usually awaited him. All the steam that surrounded him and the pitter patter of droplets against his skin did now was make him double warm. It complimented the ache that been swept from his shoulder and now sat deep in his belly. It conjured up the thoughts he’d been trying to tamp down all evening and couldn’t evade.

Each time a water droplet settled on his skin and ran down the length of his body, he imagined it was fingers. Lithe and gentle, dexterous but strong, he could feel the ridges of the finger tips, the distinct swirls that proclaimed who they belonged to, scratch down his skin. He imagined the reddening of his chest was from the drag of nails rather than the enduring stream of hot water. He imagined and the fog around him shifted, transformed. Ethereal cheekbones and soft, parted lips appeared before him. Expressive eyes and a welcoming gaze stared back at him. 

He wanted to reach up and run his hands along the broad shoulders and sculpted chest. He wanted to drag his own nails down the sinewy arms and bath in the water that sluiced off the soft curve of the stomach. It was Hannibal standing before him, proud and serene. He was watching Will just as Will watched him. Will imagined being enveloped by his embrace, being unashamed of his naked vulnerability as Hannibal pressed their bodies together. He tipped his head back reveling in just how the sensation would invade him. Want and need would leak from Hannibal’s pores and dive into his own.

Will found himself growing hard, biting back groans as he did. His cock had twitched and slowly risen as he thought of Hannibal whispering encouragement. Hannibal would tell him he was beautiful. Hannibal would chant the word mine as he laid kisses across Will’s shoulders. Will didn’t know how long he’d wanted to hear those words, and it surprised him how desperately he need to them to be true. Will took himself in his fist and moaned at the contact. His body was breathing life into his pending orgasm as he jerked himself off. His whole being was focused on coming and soon. Hannibal’s visage swam in and out of focus, and Will imagined it was Hannibal’s hands on him. He could feel the hot breath on his neck, could hear the purr of Hannibal’s own excitement.He wanted those strong arms wrapped around him, one hand drawing gentle paths across his torso as the other worked his dick. 

Will’s hand was working frantically as he chased his release. It would creep close and then run away leaving him twisting and writhing in agony. It teased him time and again until Will’s mind flashed on images of himself on his knees before Hannibal. And that was enough. His balls drew up and his limbs stuttered as he came. It wracked his whole frame: his knees almost buckled from the force of it. When he was done, he stayed under the spray of the shower and panted, forehead pressed against the tile, until he felt himself drifting off to sleep. He slowly shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. He toweled himself partly dry with sluggish movements before going to bed. Once under the covers, he closed his eyes, and didn’t have to wait for sleep to find him .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is unbeta'd so I apologize for the inevitable mistakes. Comments and kudos are always appreciated.  
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://cheerios-and-pocket-lint.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi.


	5. Chapter 5

Beverly wasn’t usually a morning. It was common knowledge and something that she and Will had in common. It was a small something they bonded over when they first started working together. Although unlike Bev, Will couldn’t get away with threatening to chop off anyone’s balls if they talked to him before he felt ready to face the day. That was a right reserved solely for Beverly, and no one was going to argue with it, not even Jack. 

Most people were keen enough to know better than to disregard Beverly’s dower glare, but neither Price nor Zeller counted themselves among that group. Admittedly Zeller wasn’t so bad. That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of him as a person, Will knew full well, but it was the best Zeller was going to get out of him. Zeller’s penchant for sarcasm and quietly commenting on the goings on around him wasn’t exactly endearing--no that definitely wasn’t the right word--but it was also harmless and relatively innocent. Most of the time he meant well. Price, however, was the real problem. His unrelenting cheeriness was painful first thing in the morning. He was always bouncing on his toes like a poor man’s Tigger, and he couldn’t be damped or quelled no matter how hard Beverly and Will glared at him. Add in his morbid fascination with oddities, and the macabre in general, and that made his enthusiasm just that much creepier. 

Of course at the moment he was openly staring at Will, like Will was a two-headed calf on display at the freakshow. Will could feel himself trying to grow smaller, shrinking until he was lost to Zeller’s gaze. It wasn’t a foreign feeling for Will. It wasn’t at all uncommon that he was the object of speculation. He’d always been a little off, although for a time he’d been better at hiding it. It was the worst when he was a kid, and since he started teaching and working in the field, he’d been backsliding horribly. People knew about him. They talked about him, and typically they did their best not to stare or be too obvious. The lab was usually a safe space where Will was free from most whispers and conjecture. 

Will sighed for possibly the millionth time that day, plus or minus a few, and reminded himself that this was the price of admission. Friendship came with give and take, and this was his fee of sorts for being friends with Beverly. She liked to joke that he was too much of a loser to hang out with her so he had to buy her affections with petty gossip and hot coffee. Apparently the coffee wasn’t a necessity today. Beverly’s usual early morning “don’t talk to me” rule had completely fallen to the wayside. Apparently Beverly had an inadvisable amount of coffee and come up with a litany of increasingly bizarre questions about his dinner at Hannibal’s on her drive in.

“So nothing happened?” Beverly’s previously energetic cheer practically evaporated. 

“We had dinner,” Will announced flatly. “It wasn’t a big deal.” It was a verbal shrug at best, a meager statement that failed to belie the real truth behind it. Yes, they’d had dinner. It was entirely uneventful unless you lived in Will’s head. For him, cerebrally at least, the night had been a frantic, chaotic mess. He wasn’t sure how Hannibal perceived the events, but as astute as he was, there was little chance he’d missed that something deeper was going on in Will. Whether or not Hannibal knew why Will was so withdrawn and hesitant at dinner was a whole other story. 

“That’s it!?” Beverly was not convinced. Neither were Price and Zeller who were watching their conversation intently although clearly dismayed by the lack of juicy details. 

“What do you want me to say?” Will ran a hand over his stubble, eyes cast down to the intersection of four floor tiles off to his left. 

“Come on Graham, I want details. Give me something, anything!” 

“There’s not much to tell. He let the dogs out for me, I came home, and then we had dinner.” Will purposefully left it at that. Glossing over his minor panic that he was hallucinating was one thing, but he’d really regret saying anything that made Hannibal look like a fool. Cooper’s attempt at gate crashing their dinner didn’t need to be public knowledge. 

“Was the food at least good? What’d he make? I hear he’s a fantastic chef,” Price added. 

“Where’d you hear that?” Zeller couldn’t help but ask. 

“Oh, here and there,” was Jimmy’s aloof attempt at casualness. “He’s known for throwing elaborate dinner parties. He makes all the food himself and puts even New York City’s best chefs to shame.” Everyone turned to Will for confirmation on Hannibal’s culinary prowess. Some part of Will had known that Hannibal liked hosting dinner parties, but it wasn’t something that he’d thought much about. He’d been invited to one of course, and had not so tactfully declined. Driving an hour to give Hannibal a bottle of wine as though it’d make up for his absence--assuming his absence had been felt at all--was perhaps not his best attempt at subtlety. He hadn’t even really known what he was doing or why he was doing it at the time. He’d wanted to see Hannibal away from the hungry gazes of Baltimore’s elite, and that had seemed like the perfect excuse. 

“It was chicken, I think,“ Will hesitated, “with mushrooms and risotto maybe.” Hannibal had told him the name of the dish, he was certain. And undoubtedly it had taken a good deal of time to prepare, as was Hannibal’s way. But he couldn’t remember much about the food. At the end of the day he hadn’t been terribly hungry. He’d picked at his food and chewed slowly not wanting to appear ungrateful. 

“Maybe? Maybe?” Zeller asked, the second question getting higher in pitch. He sounded vaguely outraged at Will’s culinary ineptitude. 

“How can you not know?” Beverly asked.

“It was a long day. I wasn’t really hungry.” 

“Be that as it may, a hot doctor asks you out on a date…” Beverly started, hellbent on driving home her point.

“It wasn’t a date,” Will grumbled. 

“Yes, it was!” Beverly insisted, this time with exasperation leaking into her voice. She looked to Price and Zeller for support and unsurprisingly, they were both nodding vigorously. 

“I’m with Beverly on this one,” Zeller declared. “Dr. Fancy Pants drives what, an hour, to let your dogs out…”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Price interjected gleefully, one eyebrow raised in mocking salute to his own wit. 

“...and he makes you an elaborate meal…” Zeller continued. 

“It wasn’t...” Will tried to interrupt. He was feeling ornery and wanted this conversation to be done and over with, but he wasn’t willing to just give up. 

“Fine, _some chicken dish_.,” Zeller conceded. “That’s definitely a date.” 

“You weren’t even there. I’m telling you, it wasn’t a date.” 

“Oh Will,” Beverly chided throwing her arm around Will’s shoulders and pulling him in close. Beverly’s head shake was resigned. “You’re hopeless. You should let me be your wingman. Wingwoman?” 

Will had a sudden premonition about what kind of catastrophe was in store for him if Beverly decided to meddle even further. Moving on to a safer topic, like the deranged killer who is dismembering women and leaving them in a cabin in the woods, seemed like the best course of action. It was why he was in the lab in the first place. He may not particularly like this part of his job, but he could do it better than anyone else. He could do some good for the world, even if it wasn’t good for himself. That was the important thing to remember, and if he could get Beverly, Price, and Zeller to focus then maybe he could focus too, long enough to catch who was doing this and stop the rising body count. Of course right then Jack walked in and loudly, angrily announced that they’d found another body.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: This is unbeta'd and will be updated sporadically.  
> Come find me swooning over Hannibal (and other fandoms) on [Tumblr](http://cheerios-and-pocket-lint.tumblr.com/)


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